End of the Golden Age
by Firebat
Summary: Azeroth returns to its state of war. Watch as Elves take a darker Path. The Trolls form a new nation. The Ogres become a force. Nature and Technology clash. Anduin Wrynn stands as the last hero. His mission to pick up after the ashes.


Chapter 1

A man ran through the darkness. His orange robes were barely detectable within the dim rays of the moonlight. His breathing was labored and though the night air was cold, he sweated profusely from his forehead. He stumbled around when he could run no more. When he could go no more he collapsed upon the muddy ground. His priestly orange robes were ruined. Archbishop Anduin Wrynn had gone far enough.

A brilliant flash of light opened up from the tops of the heavens. A blinding ray that dwarfed the light of the moon shined upon the tired and sullen eyes of the Archbishop. Ordinarily the Archbishop would have welcomed the Holy Light no matter the situation, but this time it just made him want to vomit. The time had come where he would come face to face with his destiny.

"Go away," shouted Anduin Wrynn.

"Do not be frightened Young One. The time has come for you to take up the mantle of the champions of the pasts," said a voice from within the pillar light. Within the column appeared the image of an old man. A man with blue skin and goat legs. It was only an image, Velen was calling Anduin from far away.

"Velen, you ask too much of me," said the Archbishop. He wiped the mud of his face and looked upon the Prophet and stated, "If you had wanted a hero you should have gone and asked another. Take your dark visions and leave me be."

"There will be no other heroes," Velen said sadly. He continued,"The Golden Age of adventuring has come to an end. The world will return once again to state of war. Not a single war, but multiple ones. The heroes of yesterday, including your father will die."

"Is there nothing I can do to save my father?" pleaded Anduin.

"I'm afraid not. Your father's own bloodlust will lead him into destruction. Even he knows it. You have always known it. Do not pretend to not know this would come," stated Velen as he pointed his finger at Anduin.

"We've beaten Ragnaros, Kil'Jaeden, Kael'thas, Gruul The Dragonkiller, Illidan, The Lich King, Yogg Saron, N'Zoth, C'Thun, The Qiraji Emperors, and Deathwing himself. What threat could possibly tear the world apart worse than before? Is it the Old Gods or the Burning Legion, because the Horde and the Alliance can withstand anything," shouted Varian at the luminescent apparition.

"We face a threat greater than any daemon or god," Velen stated flatly.

"What could that possibly be?" asked Anduin with shock. The sweat on his brow became ice.

"Ourselves. The Night Elves are dying. The Blood Elves are dying. The High Elves are dying. They're populations are dropping and they are not reproducing fast enough. The trolls of the world are fractured, homeless. Upon the wreckage of Outland the Ogres are beginning to unify and Sablemane is taking his father's role as leader of the Black Dragonflight. I have no doubt Sablemane and the Ogres will bring their fight to Azeroth. The Tauren have enough of the Goblins polluting the land. The Night Elves have had enough of Orcs cutting away at their forests. Turalyon will return to join forces with your father to destroy the Forsaken. The dwarves, Moira leads her people to destruction. The Horde will fracture. Without a great evil to divert our attention we will face ourselves. There is nothing you can do to stop the world from falling into darkness. There is nothing you can do to stop the madness. Nothing you can do to save your father," whispered Velen.

"Then why do you need a hero?" asked Anduin.

"To make sure there is someone who will battle for good when all hope seems lost. I ask you _**Anduin**_, to be the new Lion of Azeroth. To shine your light and save humanity. Temper your righteousness lest you too join the madness. In the end, events will come to full circle. Orcs versus humans, just as it had been during the time of your grandfather. The Exodar is repaired, my people are leaving. I regret dearly that I will not be able to help you in the coming era Kingpriest," said Velen. Those last words were filled great sorrow and melancholy.

"I'm not the king," replied Anduin.

"Not yet," replied Velen. Velen sighed, "These prophecies have nothing to do with magic or ancient stars. Such things can be stopped. These are prophecies made of mortal frailty and mortal weakness."

"I don't suppose you can give me a hint at what I should do first?" asked Anduin.

"I'm afraid its up to you."

Maiev Shadowsong had come back from the grips of insanity. She sat in a tavern. Where this tavern was or what its name was is unimportant. All she did was sit there, looking at a perfectly good grog of ale, doing nothing. Once she had been intoxicated by revenge. With a bored frown she had come to the realization that alcohol wasn't going to fill that pit. No, she had to find something else to do besides lying about in her armor.

"I tell ya, Darnassus has gone to hell. We've got beastly Worgen crawling everywhere. The Orcs are coming closer and closer everyday with every tree they chop. Everyday Night Elves go on adventures and they end up dying. We're a dying breed," said one of the customers. Maiev overheard and was intrigued. The voice had come from nearby. A Night Elf male was talking to a group of other elves. One was a Blood Elf female, another was a High Elf male and another was a Half-Elf male.

"You think that's bad. Try being a part of the Horde...ugh. Disgusting creatures. Sylvanas has been blackmailing us into doing her battles. Bitch cares little for us. Then again, I guess the Universe could care little or nothing for us," said the Blood Elf as she chugged down a flagon of beer.

"Feh, you magic addled morons get what you deserve. I remember the days when Tyrande Whisperwind would slaughter mongrel races for trespassing on our land. Now those were the days. For ten thousand years the sentinals stood guard for Kalimdor. In that time we've defended the land from things you can't even imagine. Now look at us, dying," said the Night Elf as he laid back in his chair.

"I thought Night Elf men slept during the last ten thousand years and only recently woke up during the Third War," asked an inquisitive High Elf.

"I'm an archer. That's all I am and that's all I'll ever be," he answered gruffly.

"If after ten thousand years, the Night Elves have still failed to bring up their population than perhaps there is something wrong with Night Elf males. I hear the shamans of more primitive races can do fertility rituals," said the half-elf snidely.

"I mean after ten thousand years, you were unable to produce any offspring then maybe the universe truly does want the you dead," said the half-elf.

"Watch it," bellowed the drunken Night Elf.

"We High Elves are even less in number. We live off the charity of humans. Our sick loyalty to the Alliance has become self-abuse. Everyday we meditate for an hour trying to relieve ourselves of magical withdrawal. Living at the mercy of humans, how the mighty have fallen," muttered the High Elf.

"You should have stayed with us," said the Blood-Elf.

"I'd rather die with humans than drink the blood of a demon," snarled the High Elf.

"I see nothing wrong with being a human," said the half-Elf.

"Good, you'll be dead soon," grunted the Night Elf Archer.

"I am Arator, Son of Turalyon and I'm willing to bet my old man wherever he may be, would have snapped your arrows and eaten them for breakfast," said the half-breed with a smile on his face. The High and Blood Elf gave Arator a wide berth. They were old enough to remember the original Turalyon of the Second War. The drunken Night Elf stared at him for a while, shrugged and then ordered another drink.

Maiev was amused by the bickering conversation of woes and pomp. She walked to the table, she shook her cloak a little so that her knives would jingle. The four elves looked across the table to see the Warden standing there.

"Don't look at me, continue your conversation," said Maiev. She was tall. Wearing armor from head to toe. Blades glistened under her cloak. In her hand there was circular throwing chakram. The other elves, especially the Night Elf didn't want a confrontation with Maiev.

Arator kept his cool, but he knew the woman was mad. He politely spoke, "We want no problem Warden. We are merely drinking some spirits. We will be off on our way soon enough."

With a hand like lightning she grasped around his throat. Arator had a sword in his hand, but he didn't resist in the slightest. He knew that she was out of his league. He knew that if he made a wrong move, she would snap his neck. He kept calm and stared at her eyes.

"Come on, son of Turalyon. Where is your pride now. Do you expect daddy to come save you," whispered Maiev as she leaned near his ear. It was a cutting remark, but Arator didn't move a muscle.

"Look at you all, bickering like sniveling dogs. We are Elves. You may not all be Night Elves like me and the drunken archer over here, but you are still elves. We are the children of Elune. Looking at all of you, drinking away your sorrows. I'm not surprised other races are now walking over us," said Maiev as she shoved Arator back into his seat. Her hands left a bruise on his neck.

"You want to waste your lives here in this bar without a name or do you want the Elves to reclaim Kalimdor once again," Maiev asked. The four elves were smart enough not to answer. The mad woman was capable of killing all four of them with a thought.

"Too scared to even talk back," Maiev sneered. In the blink of an eye she disappeared then reappeared standing upon the table. Her blade hanging close to the head of the Night Elf archer.

"What do you want, archer," She asked.

"I want to go back to the old days. Before the Orcs," he blubbered.

"And you my beautiful Blood Elf. Tell me, what do you want?" Maiev said as she turned her attention to the Sin'dorei.

"I want to back home to Quel'thalas. I want to have my own room instead of living like a refugee. I want to have a beautiful garden filled with flowers. I want an entire wardrobe of beautiful clothes and a soft bed to sleep on. I want..." the Blood Elf continued babbling until Maiev shushed her.

"And you High Elf, what is your desire?" Maiev asked.

"I don't want to be hungry anymore," He replied.

"And you, Son of Turalyon?" Maiev asked.

"Nothing from you. I know that you could kill me at any moment, but I am a Paladin. I can feel the evil emanating from your thoughts. Whatever you are planning, I will have none of it," Arator responded coolly.

"As you wish Paladin, the three of you follow me and I will give you your dreams. I will give you all the dreams that you've had," Maiev said as she lifted her blade up in the air.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," The Night Elf archer groaned.

"Do you want to die," Maiev snarled.

"No, but I"m just too drunk. Can I follow you tomorrow morning. My head hurts," He said.

Maiev sighed and nodded as she teleported away. She reappeared outside the tavern, waiting for the three elves to come out by morning. In her mind, there were thoughts about the future.


End file.
